Rain Arrivals

It has rained for three crooked days,
forcing the flying ants–
are they queens?–
and the spiders to try inside.

I awaken to seven new webs
woven quietly in corners
with no shuttles, only legs
and silks and whispers…

…but a lone beetle was caught
in the rain-caused blanket,
and he clicked constantly
with the breeze of the ceiling fan,
like a loose paper might in its wind.

He was large, but dying, and clicking.
In his way, he was music.
Music made inside in 1905
after the rain in old architecture.

She was smaller, but forceful,
dreaming weaves to cage him
and weaving dreams for his clicks
and her breakfast.

A circle of winged temporary queens
enveloped me in rain-caused migrations,
and I wondered about the chaos
and death always mortared in rhythm.

I wondered if this grand Bel Tine
was really just about breakfast,
and before I leave for work,
I like to give of myself 3 times.

I clicked.
And she wove.
He dreamed and clicked.
She wove.
She ate.